The Boxer
by Fig Newton Salad
Summary: Kankuro is the best boxer in his after-work league. But when a smooth-talking recruiter from an underground organization recruits him for a fight, things may get more complicated than he thinks... Rated for mild boxing violence and crime.
1. Chapter 1:

Well! This is my first non-humer, so read and review! Will be part of a slightly longer story, but it shouldn't go over a few chapters.

I don't own Naruto!

Some inspiration credited to my brother

**The Boxer**

Dingdingding!

"GO!"

The crowd screamed and hooted, stomping their feet. Smashed cans and crumpled popcorn cartons landed on the dirty tarp of the ring's mat. The two boxers hopped and bobbed, skirting each other, gloves raised to their chins, sweat plastering their hair down.

"And here we go for ROOOUND 7!" the announcer bellowed, throwing his arms wide. The crowd roared; the ground shook as they jumped and smashed their feet into the cheap particleboard floor.

Kankuro blinked sweat from his stinging eyes. His opponent was panting and wheezing, his left eye swollen almost shut. He bounced on the balls of his feet, skittering around the other guy, bandaged fists raised.

"COME ON SUBAKU!" someone screamed from the crowd.

Asuma lunged in, swinging wildly. Kankuro jumped back, taking two of the hits on his upraised arms, leaving the third to swing wide. The crowd jeered and bellowed.

Kankuro's arm shot out, his fist smashing his opponent on the jawbone. Asuma bellowed in rage and pain and reeled back. Kankuro pounded his fists relentlessly. _Left. Right._ _Left. Right. _

The crowd went wild, screaming, stamping, throwing things. Asuma stumbled backwards, falling against the ropes. Kankuro skipped back, fists raised, the blood from Asuma's face dripping from his knuckles.

Asuma groped for the ropes, slipped, and fell onto the dirty tarp mat, heaving breaths, the blood pouring from his face onto his black beard. The official swung into the ring.

"ONE!" he yelled, his voice hoarse from shouting. The crowd shouted and roared, frenetic.

"TWO!" Kankuro wiped his forehead with a sweaty forearm. He winced in pain as he dragged across a cut over his eye.

"THREE!" Asuma was struggling, pawing at the ropes, trying to drag himself to his feet. Blood dripped from his beard onto the tarp. A smashed beer can hit Kankuro in the shoulder; he let it glance off. The crowd was on its feet, their screams and shouts filling the dark room.

"FOUR!" Asuma slipped, his sweaty chest hitting the mat with a slap. The crowd jeered.

"Get up and finish what you started!" someone yelled. Kankuro let his fists drop, tilting his head back and breathing heavily. He ached from a hundred fist wounds, his hair was matted to his head with sweat. His right eye was swelling slightly, though Asuma had never been one to land a good punch to the face.

"FIVE!" Asuma clawed the tarp of the mat helplessly. The crowd's stomping was sending vibrations up Kankuro's spine. He closed his eyes and let the noise wash over him.

"SIX!" Two crumpled popcorn cartons and a half-empty paper cup of beer landed on the mat; the half-cup of beer hit Asuma, spilling over his back, sending the crowd jeering and laughing.

"SEVEN!" Kankuro frowned. He never liked it when the crowd got like this; now they were chanting something, he couldn't make it out.

"Go Sabaku!" a woman's voice shrieked. That would be Temari, he thought with a slight smile. That must mean Asuma won't be getting up again tonight.

"EIGHT!" Kankuro tasted blood and wiped at his nose experimentally; a stream of bright red blood streaked across his soiled bandages. Asuma was lying still now, his face screwed up in pain. The jeering of the crowd seemed to be crushing down on his bruised shoulders.

"NINE!" They were stomping in time now. Kankuro paused to try and make out what they were saying. He still couldn't; the boxing underground wasn't known for particularly articulate fans.

"TEEEEEEEN! KANKURO NO SABAKU IS THE WINNER!" the official yelled with all his might, head thrown back. The crowd erupted into a roaring mass. Kankuro opened his eyes and squinted through the smoky darkness, blinking salty sweat away as the official grabbed his fist and raised it up in triumph.

"KAN-KU-RO! KAN-KU-RO!" they chanted, stomping their feet. Kankuro blinked wearily as the official shook his fist in the air. His shoulders were groaning for the blissfully unaware man to stop.

"Kankuro no Sabaku wins!" he was shouting hoarsely, barely audible over the crowd. "Kankuro wins! Asuma is defeated!"

Kankuro pulled his fist away and wiped sweat from his face. He nodded to the official, who beamed at him and scurried over the ropes again. Kankuro trudged to his corner wearily, his right eye starting to swell in earnest.

"Seven rounds, that ain't bad, Sabaku," Baki said, thrusting him onto the low bench and shoving a bottle of water into his hands. He pressed a cold steel plate against Kankuro's swelling eye; he winced in pain and the steel smashed against the new bruise.

"I'd be nicer but Asuma ain't really the kinda guy you should be scared of," he continued. He paused, his tattooed face twisting into a grin.

"Feel okay after that pot-shot?" he asked. Kankuro grunted. His stomach still ached where Asuma had landed a lucky blow early in the round. Kankuro squirted water into his mouth, letting it dribbled down his chin.

Baki moved the steel plate to the side of his head, dark eyes alert, as usual. Kankuro spit his mouth guard out, letting it fall onto his jeans.

"How do I look?" he rasped. Baki chuckled, his tattoo-covered face crinkling.

"Might get some odd looks at work tomorrow," he admitted, slapping a cold towel on Kankuro's eye. "Not as much as him, though."

Kankuro peered at the other end of the ring with his good eye. A limp Asuma was being hauled off by a couple of his buddies. Kankuro sighed.

"I didn't mean that to be a knockout," he said hoarsely. "His wife's gonna kill me."

Baki gave a barking laugh, smudging Vaseline over Kankuro's bruised cheekbone. "Biggest guy in the ring, terror of the fighters, scared of that little lady?" he cackled. "Wait till I tell her! Maybe she can take you on in the grudge match!"

Kankuro grunted, clenching his teeth as Baki's steel plate moved over a new bruise. The crowd was scattering, the roaring and stomping of earlier replaced with talking and shouts of laughter. Someone propped open the exit door, letting the cool night air flow in to the stuffy interior. Kankuro breathed deeply.

"Another bruise?" Baki said cheerfully. "Oh wait! That's your _nose! _Sorry…" he sniggered, smearing Vaseline over Kankuro's bruises like it was going out of style.

Kankuro groaned.

"I though my family was the only one who made jokes about that," he croaked. Baki tossed him an ice pack.

"Okay, you're all done, kiddo," he said, stretching the ropes open. "See you Thursday?"

"Yup. Thanks, man."

Kankuro dragged himself to his feet, his muscles screaming in protest. He stumbled through the ropes and almost fell off the platform on to a scowling blonde woman with striking blue eyes.

"Some knockout punch," she said testily. "Do you know how many times Kurenai's gonna call me about that tomorrow?"

Kankuro winced as he swung to the ground beside her. She handed him a towel with pursed lips.

"Where's Gaara?" he asked, wiping the sweat from his arms and face. Temari tossed her blonde locks.

"Walked out after Asuma went down," she said, examining her black fingernails. "He doesn't like all the yelling."

Kankuro nodded. His little brother had never liked the crowds. He was impressed that silent little Gaara had even showed up tonight.

"I'll see you at the car, okay?" he said, trudging off to the back room where the boxers usually left their stuff. Temari stalked off in a mass of black leather and blonde hair. He banged open the door to the back room and grabbed his shirt, pulling it over his head.

"Yo Sabaku!" a young man with wild, black hair and red tears tattooed on his face said, snapping him with his towel. "That was some fight there!"

Kankuro winced.

"Thanks, Kiba," he said, stuffing his things into his bag and reaching for his shoes. "You looked good out there too…"

Kiba laughed ruefully, stuffing his towel into his backpack.

"I tell yah," he said, grinning to reveal a missing tooth, "I woulda had him if it didn't take so much to knock that Uzumaki guy out. Yah basically gotta beat him over the head with a sledgehammer! Darn!"

Kankuro straitened painfully from tying his shoes and chuckled.

"Next time," he said. Kiba punched a rotting, unused cabinet, sending it screeching on its hinges.

"I tell yah, Sabaku," he said, shaking his head, "Next time, man!" He swung his backpack over his shoulder and bounced out of the storeroom. Kankuro shuffled after him, froze in his tracks and swore as pain shot up his left side. He had taken too many body shots. But Asuma always fought hard, so it was either get beat up for 12 rounds or knock his lights out and get an earful from his wife Kurenai the next day. Kankuro winced. He wasn't sure which one was worse.

"G'night, Jiraya," he called to the bartender as he pushed open the low door. The white-haired old man looked up and waved from where he had been energetically wiping the counter.

"Nice knockout!" he called in a surprisingly booming voice. "You gonna be here Thursday?"

"Sure will," Kankuro said, stepping out into the cool, night air.

He trudged off to the parking lot. A few men in long, black sweatshirts and bandanas passed him without looking at him. He could hear a siren in the distance and the screech of car tires a few blocks down. He glanced up at the buildings that rose around him; all big, old brick buildings, now fallen into disrepair, their windows boarded up or half-pained in dusty, broken glass. A car whizzed past him with a kid leaning out the window shouting something Kankuro couldn't make out. Even though this wasn't a great part of town, people rarely bothered him. Being 6'5'' and almost heavyweight size had its advantages, apparently.

An old, brick red sedan screeched up beside him and honked.

"You getting in or what?" Temari yelled irritably, leaning over to open the door.

"I was coming," Kankuro said halfheartedly, swinging in beside her and slamming the door. Temari floored it and sped off into the cool night. Yellow light from the streetlights slid over them, one after the other after the other.

"You don't look too great," Temari commented, giving him a sidelong glance. Kankuro grimaced and pulled down the mirror on the visor. Sure enough, he sported a black eye, a bruised cheekbone and a cut on his forehead. There was dried blood on his nose from where it had bled earlier.

"Darnit," he said softly, scrubbing at it with his sleeve.

"Cut that out, will you?" Temari snapped. "I'll get it for you later."

"That's okay," Kankuro said.

"Don't be like that," Temari said angrily, "You've got work tomorrow, don't you? I'm not just gonna sit here and let you get fired again."

She made a tight turn around a corner and slammed on the breaks, almost sending them through the windshield. She looked at her brother piercingly.

"How's work going?" she asked.

"Fine," Kankuro lied. "Pretty steady, you know."

Temari gave him one last look before turning off the ignition.

***

_Beep_

_Beep_

_Beep_

_Beep_

_Beep_

"Gosh!" Kankuro slammed his fist into the top of his alarm clock. It crunched sickeningly. He sighed, lying back in his bed, his arm across his face. Light from his window was streaming in on the faded carpet; horns were already honking outside, and shouts and bangs floated up through the open window from the other residents of the apartment building.

6:45 already? Darn.

With a groan, Kankuro pulled himself up and swung his legs over the side of his bed, his elbows resting on his knees, his shaggy head drooping. He ached all over from his fight the night before. He could barely see out of his left eye. At least Temari had cleaned up the rest for him last night, but he wasn't optimistic about how his boss was going to take his new shiner.

There was a sharp rapping on his door.

"You up yet?" came Temari's muffled yell.

"Yeah," Kankuro yelled back in a cracking voice.

A few minutes later, he trudged out to the tiny kitchen and fell into a chair, yawning hugely. Gaara was already eating breakfast, staring with intense eyes at a biology book open beside him.

"Brush your hair, yah slob," Temari said with a half-grin, handing him coffee in a Valentine 's Day mug. Kankuro ran a hand through his tousled brown hair, making it stand on end.

"How's the shiner?" he asked drily.

Temari looked from his swollen eye to his un-tucked shirt to his messy hair and sighed deeply.

"Kurenai already called," she said, sitting down beside her two brothers. "Asuma can't go to work today. Proud of yourself? Hm?"

Kankuro set down his mug and buried his face in his hands.

"I told you I didn't mean it," he mumbled.

"Yeah," Temari snapped, "Well, Asuma's gotta go to work too, you know! You could lay off him a bit!"

"He's in the ring by choice," Kankuro sighed, going over the usual litany with his sister. "Nobody's forcing him to fight me, or any of the guys."

"Boxing," Temari said sarcastically. "That ought to help everyone."

"If it's trying to go to work and box or just going to work," Kankuro said testily. "Why do you think we do it?"

Temari checked her watch and rose to her feet sharply.

"I'm going to miss the bus," she said shortly.

Gaara raised his gaze from the book and looked at his siblings unblinkingly.

"I'll take it today," Kankuro said, rising stiffly. "You can take the car."

Temari paused and looked at him shrewdly.

"Are you going to go on Thursday?" she asked.

Kankuro grinned.

"So you are a little interested, eh?" he teased. "Yup. I'm fighting Hidan."

Temari grimaced and blushed at the same time. A slow half-smile spread itself on Gaara's face.

"Wanna come watch?" Kankuro asked, winking at his brother. "I'm sure Hidan wouldn't mind…"

"Shut up!" Temari said, grabbing her purse and turning even redder. "I'm just going to watch you beat the living daylights outa that jerk!"

Kankuro shrugged pointedly. Temari stalked out of the apartment huffily.

"I'm taking the car!" she called as she slammed the door behind her.


	2. Chapter 2: Shiner

**Chapter 2: Shiner**

Kankuro swung the 50-lb bag of potting soil into the back of the truck with a grunt. It landed with a thud. He wiped sweat from his forehead and grabbed another bag, his back and shoulders groaning from the fight and the work combined. It was mid morning, and the sun was beating relentlessly down on the warehouse yard. Sweat poured from the other workers as they hefted, swung and heaved their heavy loads onto trucks or wooden flats.

"Sabaku!"

Kankuro turned, the sun blaring blindingly into his eyes. The black silouette of his boss was stamping towards him at an alarming rate.

"Yes, Mr. Yakushi?" he asked warily, straitening up. His boss stamped right up to him, glowering from under his the bowler hat slammed over his tufts of greasy brown hair at him. He barely reached Kankuro's chin.

"I think you know what," he growled. Kankuro blinked.

There was a silence. A gentle breeze sent the open halves of Kankuro's shirt flapping; the white undershirt was already soaked through with sweat.

"What's with the face job?!" his boss exploded, stamping his foot. "You know, it ain't easy to maintain a good image in this part of town, and employees showing up with their faces smashed in _doesn't _help!"

Kankuro winced. Darnit.

"I'm sorry about the er… shiner, Mr. Yakushi," he said. "It won't happen—"

"Like heck!" Kabuto Yakushi yelled, balling his fist. "You come in with a black eye every darn week!"

_That's because I'm a boxer, _Kankuro thought irritably. Instead, he nodded penitently.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Yakushi."

"We're the most reputable place in the neighborhood!" Kabuto fumed.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Yakushi."

"I've got a darned _image_ to maintain!"

"I'm _sorry_, Mr. Yakushi…"

"No more!" Kabuto Yakushi snapped suddenly. "One more face job, and you're _out_ of a job!"

Kankuro stared at him.

"But I don't—" he started saying. Kabuto held up a hand.

"No if's, and's or but's!" he said shortly. "That's it."

With that, he stomped off. Kankuro stared at the ground, shocked. Kabuto had never given him that kind of ultimatum before; this was bad. Really bad. His hands hung by his sides in fists.

_I can't stop,_ Kankuro thought furiously. _I am __**not**__going to quit boxing for some stuffed shirt!_

He slammed his fist into the side of the truck. The sun baked metal seared his hand, but Kankuro barely felt it. Hot rage was swelling up inside him. He loved boxing more than anything it seemed—and to give that up, for some job…

"Darnit!" he growled, grabbing another bag of potting soil and slamming it into the truck. He really needed the money. The rent was tight as it was, and this was Gaara's second term out of school. He couldn't ask his younger brother to keep working to help pay the rent. He couldn't ask Gaara to quit school for good at 16. Temari already worked her hands to the bone, and if he got fired…

He threw the bags of potting soil into the truck with all his might. One after the other, they slammed into the interior, sending up clouds of dirt.

_Never quit._

Slam! The bags fell heavily onto the trucks bottom.

_Never quit._

***

Dingdingding!

"Round One!" Genma yelled, throwing his arms wide. "Hidan versus our returning champion…" He drew a huge breath. The crowd was cheering and stomping.

"SABAKU NO KANKURO!"

The crowd sent up a rousing cheer. Hidan waved, grinning and running a hand through his slicked hair. Kankuro raised a fist halfheartedly. Both men had stripped down to their jeans and bandaged their fists.

"Nice farmer's tan," Hidan muttered a wicked grin on his aquiline face.

Kankuro glanced at his shoulder.

"It's a bruise," he said seriously.

Hidan gave a laugh and started bouncing on the balls of his bare feet, jabbing his fists into the air. Kankuro clenched his fists, feeling the calluses on his palms rub against the sweaty bandages.

"And they're off!" Genma yelled for good measure, swinging acrobatically out of the ring.

"That's horse racing, man!" Hidan said, shaking out his arms, head thrown back. "Woohoo!"

Hidan lunged in, his fists slamming again and again into Kankuro's blocks. The crowd bellowed and hollered. Kankuro clenched his teeth as the lighter boxer sent blow after blow whipping into him.

"LET HIM HAVE IT!" someone yelled.

Kankuro grunted as Hidan's lightning-fast punches ripped into him. He jogged back, arms raised, trying to dodge. Hidan was right on top of him, eyes wide, a huge grin splitting his finely cut features.

"Not even gonna land _one _punch?" Hidan yelled, catching him right below the ribcage. "I'm insulted!"

Kankuro gasped and fell back against the ropes. A huge swell of roars came from the crowd; a smashed beer can landed on the tarp.

"Darnit!" he grunted.

Hidan had skipped back and was bouncing from foot to foot, fists raised.

"Yo Sabaku!" he jeered. "I'm getting lonely out here!"

Kankuro spit blood onto the filthy tarp mat. He raised his head slightly and looked at Hidan through his shaggy brown hair. The other boxer was laughing again, jabbing his fists out in front of him.

"I'm all yours," he growled.

He pushed himself from the ropes and lunged at Hidan. Kankuro swung his fists hard, pounding them relentlessly.

Caught unaware, Hidan took a hard hit to the side and stumbled back, blocking clumsily. Kankuro's right hook came light a lightning bold, smashing a devastating uppercut into Hidan's jaw.

Hidan was thrown back against the ropes, slipped down and landed hard on the mat, breathing in gasps. The crowd screamed. Kankuro stepped back and shook out his thick arms. Hidan was fast, but he was no match for Kankuro's raw power. _Landscaping_, he thought bleakly, _I guess it does have an upside._

"And he's DOWN, folks, Hidan is DOWN!" Genma yelled, swinging over the ropes beside the fallen boxer. Hidan grabbed the ropes with one hand, trying to raise himself. He slipped back, his head connecting hard with the mat. He groaned.

"Do I need to start COUNTING?" Genma yelled enthusiastically. The crowd roared and threw their trash. Kankuro grinned. Genma was so unprofessional it wasn't even funny, but then again, they weren't anywhere close to a professional league, and, well… it _was _sort of funny.

"Shut up you—" Hidan's words—presumably filthy ones—were cut off as the crowd roared its approval.

"ONE!" Genma shouted, pumping a fist into the air.

"Will you _shut up?_!" Hidan yelled, grabbing at the ropes clumsily. Genma ignored him.

"TWO!" the whole crowd chanted with him. Kankuro blinked sweat out of his eyes.

"DARN YOU!" Hidan yelled, pulling himself to his feet. He stood there, panting, the ropes stretching as he leaned back against them for support.

"Game on!" Genma said innocently, swinging back over the ropes. Kankuro grinned to himself and raised his fists. Hidan coughed and stumbled back out into the ring, blinking hard and shaking himself. The smile had vanished from his proudly cut features.

"Darnit, Sabaku," he spat. "You pumping iron these days or something?"

"Landscaping," Kankuro said with a grin. He bounced on the balls of his bare feet, circling his opponent, fists raised. Hidan just looked at him. Then suddenly, he threw back his head and laughed.

"That was some uppercut, Sabaku!" he howled, bouncing around him and jabbing with his fists. "But how's your stamina? Woohooo!"

Fists pounding, feet stomping and shuffling, sweat pouring off their bruised backs, the two fighters went at it.

Temari ran a hand through her coarse blonde hair, her blue eyes bright with intensity. She watched Hidan and her brother as they fought their way back and forth, grunting and punching, sweat and blood dripping onto the tarp. She clenched her fists.

Darn, was she glad Hidan was getting served—or at least, mostly. The two were pretty evenly matched. The slenderer, faster Hidan had barely made it to the heavyweight section of their little league, but since they had had only two others and he could more than hold his own, he was in. He was more than in, Temari thought bitterly, he was doing darned well.

She clenched her teeth as Hidan barely missed her brother's jaw. The crowd yelled out a few derogatory remarks about Hidan's aim.

Temari thought back on their conversation two nights before. Kankuro had never had a good poker face; she was worried about his job. He didn't much like it, she knew, and it didn't pay nearly well enough to make the long hours worth it, but they were all hard up on cash. And if he lost this one… Temari shuddered, closing her eyes against the dark, smoky room. She leaned back against the metal folding chair.

DING!

Genma swung into the ring.

"That ties up Round One!" he hollered. Hidan saluted to his opponent with a wink and jogged to his corner. Kankuro trudged to his, where Baki was waiting, sitting back on his heels, a huge grin on his tattoo-covered face.

"I thought you was gonna have him right there in the first round!" he said with a toothy grin. "Sure hit him hard enough!"

Kankuro fell onto the stool, squirting water over his face.

"He's too fast," he panted. "That was the only chance he gave me."

"Ah, quit yer whining," Baki said good-naturedly, pressing his steel plate on Kankuro's cheekbone. He winced, arching his back and the cold metal smashed down on his bruised skin.

"I can't get another shiner," he said between clenched teeth. Baki's eyes flicked up at him briefly as he reached for the Vaseline.

"Trouble at work?" he asked, smearing the gel over his brow bone. Kankuro gritted his teeth.

"Listen," Baki said, suddenly serious. "Next time you get any opening, you smash his face into next week."

Kankuro stared at him.

"Isn't it a little early for a knockout…?"

A crease appeared between Baki's eyebrows. He slid the steel plate lower on Kankuro's jaw absently.

"You've got the power for it, kiddo," he said. "Hidan will break your face with those left jabs, but if you can get a knockout now, you can go to work with half a face tomorrow."

Kankuro hesitated, looking over his friend's shoulder to where Hidan sat, grinning and talking energetically to his coach, the black haired, stoop-shouldered Kakuzu. The older man was wearing a sour expression, unceremoniously slapping ice and steel plates on Hidan's finely cut features.

"What side?" Kankuro said in a low voice. Baki grinned at him again, tattooed face wrinkling in a thousand lines.

"Now yer talking!" he crowed. "Nothing like a little unemployment to get fights around here more exciting!"

Kankuro squirted water over his sweaty face.

"As if we needed it," he grumbled, kicking away a crushed Pepsi can that had landed on the tarp.

Baki grabbed his arm and hauled him to his feet.

"Well, you know, you're the slow and steady type," he commented, catching the water bottle Kankuro tossed to him. "I don't think you've ever gone less than nine rounds, eh?"

"I went seven on Wednesday, you know," Kankuro said with a half-grin. He loped out into the center of the ring.

"Sabaku!" Baki yelled at him over the renewed din of the crowd. He turned around. Baki grinned at him and gave him the thumbs up.

"Right side!" he said. Kankuro nodded.

Genma swung over the ropes, chewing a toothpick.

"Okay, fellas," he shouted, his voice slightly hoarse, "Time for round two!" The crowd sent up a rousing cheer. Kankuro shook out his arms, head back and eyes closed, readying himself for the next round. This wasn't going to be easy. He had never swung a knockout in the second round; heck, he barely ever swung them at all.

Hidan sprang into the center of the ring, jogging in place, his slicked-back hair shining under the smoky lights.

Kankuro raised his fists slowly, watching his opponent. He had to take the first opening Hidan gave him, and swing as hard as he could, as fast as he could. Unfortunately, Hidan barely ever left himself open. He was just too darned fast.

_Dingdingding!_

"GO!" Genma yelled, swinging over the ropes again. The crowd stomped and yelled, filling the low-ceilinged room with their noise. Kankuro shifted his weight to the balls of his feet, fists above his chin, ready.

"Time to _really_ get going!" Hidan yelled, eyes wild. Then he was off. His fists swung out, again and again, jabbing light lightening.

The crowd roared.

Kankuro gritted his teeth as Hidan's fists slammed into his side, over and over again. He skittered backwards, hunched forward, fists raised. Hidan's fists hit him over and over again, leaving red marks on impact and sending sweat drops flying.

"Congratulations, Sabaku!" Hidan cried, eyes wild. "You just got me really angry at you!" Kankuro threw up his arms and reeled back as Hidan sent three smashing blows into his ribcage. He hit the ropes, swinging over the edge of the ring.

"That's _right,_" Hidan spat, jogging back. Kankuro hung there on the ropes, mute with pain, teeth clenched. He could hear his heart thumping in his head, drowning out the frenzied cheering of the crowd.

Hidan raised his fists. He bounced on the balls of his feet, crisscrossing them, back and forth, back and forth. Kankuro straitened painfully, heaving shuddering breaths between his teeth.

"Any day now," Hidan said. His eyes were set like flint, all traces of his earlier humor gone.

Kankuro glance back at his corner. Baki was watching Hidan with round, alert eyes. Now or never.

With a roar, Kankuro threw himself into the ring, fists slamming into his opponents body. Hidan raised his arms and reeled back, missing a left uppercut. Kankuro slammed his fists over and over, driving Hidan back towards the corner.

"Darn you!" Hidan grunted, his fist clipping Kankuro's shoulder.

Then Kankuro saw his opening.

He swung his right fist into the side of Hidan's face, smashing into his jaw. Hidan roared in pain and stumbled to the left, dropping his arms momentarily.

Bingo.

Kankuro brought his left fist smashing up against Hidan's lower jaw as hard as he could. His fist slammed into his opponent's face. Hidan's head cranked around sickeningly, his arms flying up in helplessness. That was when Kankuro's right jab smashed right into his forehead. Hidan's head snapped back on impact. His arms flailed. He fell back against the corner and slid to the ground, unconcious.

The room was dead quiet.

Kankuro stumbled back, hands on knees, the sweat dripping off his face onto the tarp. He heaved breaths, his head pounding.

Genma almost tripped as he scrambled over the ropes into the ring. He looked from the unconcious Hidan to Kankuro, eyes wide.

"Holey goodness…" he breathed.

Kankuro shut his eyes against the salty sweat. His side was searing in pain.

Genma removed the toothpick from his mouth slowly. He turned and looked at the crowd. Then, he threw up his arms.

"KANKURO WINS!" he yelled.

The crowd errupted. The cheering was deafening; empty bottles and popcorn cartons flew through the air. The floor shook with the stomping.

"KANKURO WINS!" Genma was yelling. "KANKURO WINS!"

The crowd went wild. They screamed and hooted, jumping from their metal folding chairs.

Kankuro screwed up his eyes in pain. Someone thrust a water bottle into his hands.

"That was some move, kiddo!" Baki was yelling in his ear. "That was some move!"


	3. Chapter 3: Knockout

**Chapter Three: Knockout**

Kankuro shrugged his jacket over his aching shoulders.

"Nice job out there, Sabaku!" Kiba said, pounding him on the back enthusiastically. "You _owned_ him, man!"

Kankuro grinned, hefting his backpack.

"Thanks," he said.

"Did Baki give you that move?" a young man with spiked blond hair asked, bouncing up beside Kiba. "That whole, uppercut jab thing?"

"Uh, he told me what side," Kankuro said slowly. Truth be told, he had made that combination up relatively on the spot. Not that it hadn't been heavily influenced by old footage from Uchiha Madara fights.

The young blond and Kiba were nodding in grave amazement.

"Wow, man," Kiba said, drawing a hand across the red tear tattoos on his face. "You're like, the champion now, right?"

Kankuro laughed.

"Do we have one?" he asked, starting for the door.

"We should!" the young blond said resolutely, his blue eyes blazing. "You beat the other heavies, right?"

"There are only _two _other heavies, Uzumaki," Kiba said with a scathing glance. "Champion of the lightweights would be harder, eh?"

"You mean featherweights?" Asuma said, strolling up to them. He winked at Kankuro with an eye still puffy from the remnants of a huge shiner. "There are more of you little guys, but how'd you like to be in the ring with Sabaku or me?"

"We're _light_ weights!" Uzumaki Naruto said angrily.

Kankuro's brows drew together. Asuma's face was more beat up than he'd imagined; on top of the shiner, the older man was sporting a cut over one eye and bruise marks on his jaw. Presumably where Kankuro had hit him a few days earlier.

"Listen," he said uncomfortably with a vague gesture at his face, "Sorry about all… that…"

Asuma silenced him with a clap on the back. Kankuro managed not to wince.

"You looked mighty fine out there tonight," he said. "Mighty fine."

"Yeah!" Kiba said, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "You _owned _him!"

"Do you even know what that means?" Naruto asked irritably, crossing his sinewy arms over his black t-shirt. Kiba punched him.

"Thanks," Kankuro said seriously. "Baki's a good coach."

Asuma started towards the door with him.

"That's big, Sabaku," he said. "A good coach can make or break a fighter." Kankuro looked down pensively. It wasn't that he was ungrateful for all Baki did in the corner, but he wondered… what would it be like to fight under a _real _coach? A professional?

"G'night," Asuma said, clapping him on the back.

"See yah," Kankuro said hastily. He watched Asuma stroll to the parking lot around the corner. What would it be like to fight under a professional coach? Sure he was good for the group of them, but they were a bunch of buddies, not a league of boxers. Kankuro hefted his backpack and started down the sidewalk in the opposite direction of the parking lot.

"Right hook, left uppercut, right jab. Pop pop bang!" a lazy voice said.

Kankuro turned abruptly. A grey-haired man in a long, dark coat and mirrored sunglasses was standing behind him, a slight grin on his face.

"Your own move?" the man asked in the same lazy voice. "Any relation to Uchiha Madara?" He chuckled softly.

"Excuse me?" Kankuro said warily. The man's coat was discreet but devastatingly well-made. His slacks were pressed to perfection, his shoes were lightly shined. His grey hair was combed back in waves.

"You sure put on a show," he continued. "That little guy was pretty fast." He chuckled.

Kankuro shifted uncomfortably; he couldn't see the other man's eyes behind the sunglasses. And who wore sunglasses at night?

"Can I help you?" he asked. The night wind was cooling the sweat on his body, chilling his skin. The strange man lifted the corner of his mouth.

"What are you, the Salvation Army?" he asked. "Because last time I checked, there's no charity boxing in the pros."

Kankuro frowned slightly. The man strolled towards him, closing the streetlight-flooded space between them.

"How much have you ever made in a fight?" he asked. The curve of his mouth deepened.

"It's not really like that," Kankuro explained, feeling his muscles tense. "We don't fight for cash."

"Just a fight among friends?" the man said.

"After work league," Kankuro said. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end; this guy had better get to the point fast.

The grey-haired man stopped a couple of feet from him. The face around the glasses was utterly blank.

"I'll make you an offer," he said.

Kankuro stiffened. Sounded a little too mobster for his liking.

"Blackmail?" he blurted out, then cringed mentally. The grey-haired man seemed amused by this.

"Cute, but no," he said. "We don't blackmail blue-collar flunkies."

"We?" Kankuro said, trying to ignore the blue-collar flunkie business, though it rang all too true. He wondered what time it was and tried not to think about work. At least he didn't have a shiner—at least a new one.

"Job offer," the man said. "Real money. Real coach. And maybe someone in the ring who isn't half your size."

He blinked.

"You serious?" Kankuro said in disbelief. "The pros or something?"

The grey-haired man laughed.

"You wish, cupcake," he said. "They don't pay like we do. What do you make in a year? Think about making that in one fight."

Truth be told, Kankuro thought he could make twice his yearly income a lot of places; still, one fight! That was insane. Borderline illegal. Probably illegal, he thought, given his mystery recruiter's approach to job offers.

"What's your name?" he asked.

The man's smile broadened. The streetlight was tinting his silver hair and face a dirty yellow.

"Hatake Kakashi," he replied. "That doesn't mean anything to you… yet." He smiled. Kankuro was almost certain the teeth were pointed. "Well? You going to fight with the men or the boys?" he asked.

Kankuro's instincts were ringing like alarm clocks. There was nothing about Hatake Kakashi that inspired the least amount of confidence. This had to be illegal. Why else would a recruiter show up alone, in the middle of the night in a bad part of town just to talk to some casual boxer? But the money! Darn, did they need the money. And if he could get it doing something he loved, then he could pretty much die happy.

_It's going to be something illegal, idiot,_ his brain was telling him. He clenched his free hand.

Kakashi was watching him—at least it looked like it, though his eyes were invisible—with an expressionless face.

"Want my card?" he asked finally. "Go on home, sleep on it, and give me a call if you want to fight."

"Yeah," Kankuro said finding his tongue, accepting the card Kakashi handed him. "Okay."

"You take care of that face, Sabaku," Kakashi said with a grin. "Wouldn't want any trouble with your boss."

He tipped an invisible hat and strode off down the sidewalk, his long, black trench coat swooping around his shoes. Kankuro watched him disappear around the corner into the night. He looked back at the card.

_Hatake Kakashi,_ it said simply. There was a phone number beneath it. He turned it over: blank.

Kankuro shook himself slightly and started off down the sidewalk again, shoving the card in his jeans pocket. What had that been about? And how in the world had someone like Hatake Kakashi found their little league? He'd have to ask Jiraya about it next time he came; surely someone like Kakashi would have stood out, watching the fight with the other "blue collar flunkies".

He gritted his teeth. It was too good to be true: boxing for more money than he could make at a job that he hated? There had to be a catch. In fact, he was pretty sure there _was _a catch, and it killed him to think about walking away from the offer.

"_Real money. Real coach." _

What was he supposed to do? He was basically broke as it was, and it was only because Temari worked herself to the bone that they even had an apartment. Boxing had tossed him from one job to the other, throwing him out when the injuries got too bad to explain with accidents. But he loved it and would never give it up, no matter how many times his face got beaten to a pulp.

Kankuro hefted his backpack. Darnit.

***

_Beep._

_Beep._

_Bee-_

Kankuro let his hand rest on the alarm clock. He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, motionless. He hadn't slept well. The strange encounter with Hatake Kakashi had kept his mind racing well into the morning hours.

He swung his feet over the side of the bed, rubbing at sandy eyes. He could hear Temari moving around in the living room already. Might as well not tell her about the strange encounter—he was going to turn the offer down anyway, right? It would be just one more thing for her to worry about anyway.

***

"You'd better get in there," Izumo said, wiping his sweating face on the sleeve of his shirt, "Anko's been screaming up a storm this morning."

"Just my luck," Kankuro muttered, shoving his work gloves into the back pocket of his jeans and loping off through the loading lot into the office.

Anko was sitting behind the receptionist's desk, her cropped, brown hair frizzing out around her head, looking extremely frazzled. She was talking with someone on the phone in very clipped tones.

"No, no, sir, we don't take returns on opened bags of fertilizer," she was saying. Her face was flushed, and she was trying to type something into the computer as she spoke.

"Well, I'm sorry, sir, but maybe you should have checked that before dumping it in your garden," Anko said exasperatedly. She switched the phone to her other ear and glared up at Kankuro.

"What took you so long?" she hissed, swinging her chair around to face him and ripping a spreadsheet from the printer.

"Just got here," Kankuro muttered. "Did anything come in?"

She stapled a wad of papers together.

"Let me repeat, sir, that's very unfortunate, but we can't take returns on opened product," she snapped into the phone again. Anko moved the phone away from her mouth.

"You need to get a load of black dirt and sixteen bags of fertilizer over to the Mallory residence on Broadway," she said to Kankuro, rummaging around her desk for another wad of papers. "They also want eight evergreen shrubs. Get on it."

Kankuro nodded wordlessly and strode out of the office into the blazing sunlight.

"Sir, please stop talking, sir, are you listening to me?" he heard Anko say behind him. He sighed.

"Izumo!" he called to the black-haired man, who was swinging skinny oak tree saplings into the back of a truck. "Got a sec to help me with this black dirt?"

"Sure, Sabaku," Izumo replied, shaking sweaty hair out of his eyes.

They shoveled the dirt onto a tarp in the back of one of the company pickup trucks, fitting shrubs along the outside, their bases weighed down by the fertilizer. Izumo slammed the back of the trunk closed.

"That shouldn't wobble around on you," he said with a satisfied not. "Going far?"

"Just Broadway," Kankuro replied, throwing his work gloves on the passenger seat and fishing the keys from the glove box.

An hour later, Kankuro eased the truck back into the loading lot. A few other trucks were parked there, and one flatbed, sagging under the weight of some cinder block. He squinted against the midmorning sunlight. Kabuto was standing in the doorway of the office, arms crossed, round glasses pushed high against his nose, looking like thunder. Kankuro's heart sank. Now what?

He took as long as he could unloading the tarp and brushing the excess dirt out of the bed of the truck. Finally, he ambled over to where Kabuto was standing in the doorway, glaring at him with all his might.

"Morning, Mr. Yakushi," he said with a nod.

"_Morning?_" Kabuto burst out. "Do you want to know what kind of _morning _I've been having? Do you?"

Kankuro's shoulders stiffened. That was most definitely a rhetorical question. But Kabuto stood there with his feet akimbo, glaring up at him in utter silence. The sound of the phone ringing in the office floated out into the hot, midmorning air.

Finally, he broke the silence.

"What kind of morning have you been having, Mr. Yaku—˝

"_A terrible morning, that's what!"_ Kabuto yelled. "I got a friggin' _complaint _about you called in!"

Kankuro's stomach knotted. Oh, darn. This was exactly the opposite of what he needed right now. But who was complaining?

"Uh, sorry, Mr. Yakushi," he said uncertainly. "Who complained?"

Kabuto literally stomped his foot. His gut quivered under the purple polo shirt.

"The Mallorys, you idiot!" he said. "You friggin' left half their order here! Do actually _want_ to get fired? Cause you're doing just the right kind of stuff to get you there!"

"But I loaded everything up," Kankuro said with a frown. "Did they make a mistake, like, forget to put something on the order?"

Yakushi Kabuto literally bared his teeth.

"You friggin' knucklehead," he said. "Get in here."

He turned on his heel and stomped into the office. Kankuro followed with lead feet—he was sure he had filled that order correctly. Well, _mostly _sure.

Kabuto slammed his fist down on Anko's desk.

"Miss Mitarashi," he said, glowering at Kankuro, "Did you get a call-in order under the name Mallory today?"

"Yes, Mr. Yakushi," she said distractedly, shoving a flyaway strand of short hair behind her ear, sorting through the huge stack of papers on her desk. The phone rang. Anko lunged for it, her face flushed.

"Let it ring!" Kabuto commanded.

Anko stared at him. He glared at her.

"The order, Miss Mitarashi, what was it?" he repeated. Anko blinked several times, trying to ignore the shrill ringing of her desk phone. She riffled through the papers and came up with an order form.

"Here we go," she said. "Sixteen bags of fertilizer, a load of black dirt, two flats of retaining wall block in salmon and eight evergreen shrubs." She said. Kankuro started. Retaining wall block? Anko was frowning down at the order, then it dawned on her. Her eyes widened, and a deep flush crept into her face.

Kabuto rounded on him.

"Wouldn't you know it," he said, "But it sounds like the Mallorys never got those flats of retaining wall block. Any ideas as to where it went?"

"The order," Kankuro stammered, nodding towards Anko, "She—I never got told about the block. Anko just said to get the dirt, shrubs and fertilizer."

"That's not true," Anko said vehemently, jamming the page back into the pile on her desk. "I told him, Mr. Yakushi, I told him the whole thing!"

"You were on the phone," Kankuro said, "You only said those three things. You looked kind of distracted, you know."

Anko turned back to her computer, tapping away furiously on the keys.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said, not looking at him. "I never mess up orders like that."

"Come on, Anko," Kankuro said, stepping towards the desk, "You've been really busy, and it's easy to mess up that sort of stuff, so—˝

"Enough!" Kabuto said, slamming his fist down on the desktop again. Anko jumped, but didn't look away from the computer screen. Yakushi glowered at them both, highly dissatisfied that the attention had been taken away from him.

"I can't run a business with you getting complaints called in," he said to Kankuro. "You're really walking a fine line here, Sabaku, really fine line."

Kankuro gulped. Anko tapped away at the keys doggedly, refusing to make eye contact with either of them.

"I'm just about at the end of my rope with you," Kabuto said. "That's your last warning."

He stomped out of the office into the hot daylight, slamming the door behind him. Kankuro turned back to the receptionist's desk.

"Listen, Anko," he said, "He's about to fire me. Just tell him you accidentally forgot to tell me about the blocks!"

Anko swung her chair around and glared at him.

"What," she said, "You don't think I want my job either? Get a grip, Kankuro, he already thinks you're the problem."

Kankuro leaned back from the desk, looking at her. The phone rang; Anko snatched it up, turning away from him.

"Yakushi landscaping and gardens, can I help you?" she said.

Kankuro stormed out of the office into the blinding glare of the sun. Great. Anko was never going to fess up about the mishap—as far as Yakushi Kabuto was concerned, he was public enemy number one around the business. Heck, he'd fire himself at this point.

He ducked around the far side of the garage buildings, a narrow strip of dead grass between the landscaping buildings and the wall of the next business over, deep in shadow at this time of day. He leaned his sweaty back against the cool brick garage wall.

What a stupid day. What a stupid job! He felt the corner of Hatake Kakashi's card pricking him in his pocket.

_No way._

But… what if he got fired for all this? Then what? Besides, what was one fight? It's not like this Hatake character wanted to hire him full time, if that sort of job ever _was _full time anyway.

Kankuro clenched his teeth, pulled out his cell phone and punched in the number on Kakashi's business card.

It rang once.

"Hello, Sabaku," Kakashi answered.

"Wh—how did you know it was me?" Kankuro blurted out. Kakashi chuckled.

"Is this a social call, or do you have something to say to me?" he asked.

Kankuro sighed.

"Okay," he said. "I'm free for one fight."

"Groovy," Kakashi replied. "Landscaping not doing it for you anymore?"

"You don't know the half of it," Kankuro muttered.

"Sucks to be you," Kakashi said jovially. "I'll see you at nine tonight on the corner of Selby and Hawthorne."

He disconnected.


End file.
